by Witt, L. A.
I rubbed my eyes and sighed. I needed help. With everything. The drinking, the depression, everything.
And no matter how much I wanted to convince myself I could handle it if he left, the fact was, I needed Damon. I needed him, and I wanted him, and fuck if I wasn’t stuck in a body I couldn’t ask him to want.
If you want him to stick around, quit pushing him away, idiot.
I pulled up his email and typed a reply.
Yeah, we can get together. I think we might want to sit down and do some talking about things.
Me
I read it a few times over, my nerves prickling at the two simple sentences. Maybe it would be better to feel him out first. Gauge his mood, what he wanted out of this evening.
I deleted what I’d written, wrote another message, and hit send before I could think twice.
Got anything in mind for tonight?
Me
What did I have in mind? Oh, now there was a loaded question. What I wanted was for Alex and me to go out like we had hundreds of times before. As a couple. As two people in love.
Or just stay home, talk—not about anything serious or earth-shattering, just whatever came to mind—while I gave Alex a foot massage.
God, I missed that. Alex was almost always game for a foot massage. I used that to gauge how serious a depressive phase was. If she wouldn’t even let me rub her feet, then she was in bad shape. If she just didn’t want to talk, wasn’t interested in sex, but was okay with the massage, then I could breathe a little easier.
It was a way for us to physically connect without making her uncomfortable. It didn’t solve everything, but it closed some of the distance between us. On those nights, I’d take what I could get.
And now I was the one who wouldn’t touch Alex.
But what was I supposed to do? I loved Alex. I loved the Alex I knew before the night I learned she was a shifter. How did I feel now? Part of me wanted to be angry and betrayed that she’d kept it from me for so long. I understood her reluctance to trust anyone with that information, but I couldn’t deny it hurt that she hadn’t been able to trust me with it.
Even if I could get past all of that, then what?
I wanted to make things work with Alex. If he regained the ability to shift, and we could regain the intimacy we’d had before, then maybe we could do this. But what if he didn’t? What if we didn’t? What if I couldn’t?
And how would I have felt if Alex had accepted my proposal a few months ago? If this came out after we were married? Instead of now, when it was—and the thought made me sick with self-loathing—still socially acceptable for me to walk away?
I loved Alex and always would, but I didn’t know how to love him now. What would happen when we got tired of not touching?
Even if I was physically attracted to him as a male, then what? He was the same person, just in a man’s body, but I’d never been with a man before. I didn’t have the first clue what to do. I mean, I knew what I liked. I knew what women liked. Things like anal were nothing new to us, though I wondered how the hell I’d react if Alex wanted to switch roles. That could be—
Damon. Slow down.
No two ways about it, we needed to talk. Badly. This was driving me to distraction. I looked up at our picture on the corkboard and sighed.
After a moment, I reached up and pulled the picture down. I gave it one last look, then slid it into the top drawer of my desk.
On my computer screen, his email was still waiting for a response, the cursor blinking like an impatiently tapping foot. Gut churning with guilt, mind going a thousand miles an hour, I typed a bland, benign response.
We could go out or stay in. Your call.
D
My call. I sighed. We could keep this up all damned day, knowing us. Why did it have to be so fucking hard for us to talk? That had never been easy for us, and today, we couldn’t even get past a volley of noncommittal emails.
That wasn’t to say that we never talked or couldn’t talk. In our past life, there were nights we’d sit on the sofa for hours, just talking. And of course, Damon always ended up rubbing my feet, which was pure bliss. I was sure the man had sacrificed a virgin or twelve to the Patron Saint of Foot Massages. His touch was magic. And he didn’t just soothe the pain from standing behind the bar all night; he could almost put me in a trance. A foot massage from him relaxed me like a full body massage from anyone else.
Right about now, I could have gone for one of those foot massages.
Yeah, right. I’m sure he gives those to his male friends all the time.
My heart sank.
There was no way I could express to Damon how thankful I was that he was still around. But what if the implants left me unable to shift into my female form even after they were removed? Damon had been a godsend, but I’d already leaned on him so heavily before this happened. He’d been a rock for me even when I’d rejected his touch and refused to tell him why, and he’d never hesitated for a second whenever I finally relaxed enough to lean on him.
There was a night maybe six months ago when I was so depressed, I could barely get off the sofa. Damon’s concern was written all over him, from the upraised eyebrows to the gentle hand on my shoulder and his soft voice, but I couldn’t explain it. How could I tell him about the conversation I’d had with my parents earlier that day? If I’d told him my stepfather had said it’d be better for me to risk dying under anesthesia than to voluntarily live another day as the creature I was, then I’d have had to explain what I was. Damon couldn’t begin to understand that my parents hated me unless he understood why.
And I hadn’t been able to speak then, anyway. The sound of my own voice had turned my stomach. I’d needed to be male so badly that night, but I’d needed Damon more, so I’d hidden in my female body instead of being alone.
We hadn’t talked, but he hadn’t left either.
I looked at the picture beside my monitor again. Seeing his face hurt more than seeing my own, and I couldn’t stand it any longer. I grabbed the frame off my desk and shoved it into a drawer.
Then I faced his email again. My fingers rested on the keys, and I begged the words to come to me. Come on, just get it out. Quit putting it off, and maybe we can both get some sleep.
Taking a deep breath, I started typing.
Maybe we could stay in tonight. Talk about—
Backspace. Backspace. Backspace.
I stared at the blinking cursor and the vast expanse of nothing in front of it.
Damon, we really need to discuss things. I know this is difficult for you. Believe me, I under—
Ctrl+A. Delete.
Discussing it via email wasn’t going to get us anywhere. We needed to discuss it face-to-face. Besides, anything could be misinterpreted in an emotionless message. Better to wait until we were in the same room.
Let me know what you want to do.
Me
When I got back from a staff meeting, Alex’s email was waiting, and I supposed it shouldn’t have surprised me that we were no closer to a consensus about tonight. All through the meeting, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him or our situation. I’d hoped he’d be the one to stop the staring contest and just out and say it, but no luck.
Did this conversation have to be in an email, though? I could always bring it up tonight at dinner.
Nerves coiled in the pit of my stomach. Bringing this up wouldn’t be easy.
“Listen, I’m not sure what we’re doing . . .”
“Any thoughts about . . .”
“So, Alex, about our sex life . . .”
I sighed. Maybe I was rushing this. Alex had enough on his mind without listening to all the reasons—none of which I could articulate without sounding like a jerk—why I wasn’t sure how things would pan out between us. We couldn’t ignore the subject forever, but did we have to address it tonight? It had been less than twenty-four hours since his parents were arrested. He was stuck in a static body that was probably still hurting from however
much he drank last night.
When did things get so fucking complicated? I knew every relationship would have its ups and downs, but thinking back to the beginning, I never could have imagined any of this. Not the way I’d fall in love with her, and not the way things would be now.
The night we met, she’d caught my eye from across the room, and that was it. One way or another, I’d had to talk to her. Of course, that almost backfired. I was so nervous about approaching her, I’d had one too many shots of liquid courage. I was lucky I could remember and articulate my own name, never mind ask for hers, but somehow, the words came out.
To my drunk and shy surprise, she’d said yes.
One dance had turned into two. Two turned into three. Three turned into finding a booth in the corner of the room and talking over the music until we got tired of shouting and went outside. Going outside turned into a long conversation, a long look, and a long, knee-shaking kiss.
And the rest was history.
Looking at the empty space the picture had occupied beside my desk, I wondered if the rest was history. In spite of her emotional ups and downs, not to mention her drinking, we’d had something really special. I loved her like I’d never loved anyone before.
I missed feeling that way about Alex. He was more of a stranger to me now than she’d been that night I drank up the courage to ask her for a dance.
I wanted that feeling back. Could we get it back? Was there a point of no return we’d crossed when I wasn’t looking?
And for the millionth time, I asked myself, was Alex’s gender really that important? It mattered to him, but should it matter to me?
Exhaling, I let my head fall back against the chair. Maybe we both just needed some time to deal with everything. No decision needed to be made tonight. We’d invested two years into our relationship. Two of the best years of my life. We were less than a week into this, so maybe it was too soon for do-or-die.
I took a breath and sent a message back.
I could go for Mexican tonight. Bolero’s?
D
Maybe I was overanalyzing everything. Damon needed time to process all of this, and I didn’t blame him. Cornering him into a conversation he wasn’t ready for would probably be counterproductive.
He was still here. Whether or not our relationship ultimately wilted, he was still here. Friend, boyfriend, either way, I hadn’t lost him yet. There was no sense beating him over the head with all of this and pushing him away, especially not days before a trial during which I was sure I’d need his shoulder badly.
We’d get to it. For now, Damon still seemed to enjoy my company. For now, that was enough. Why make it more difficult than it was?
There was time. Tonight, I just needed to be with him. Everything else could wait.
Meet me at my place after work?
Me
One thing at a time. One day at a time. Even if Alex and I did call it quits and go our separate ways over this, it wouldn’t be this evening. There was too much chaos that went beyond us, and it didn’t feel right to hash it all out tonight.
——
See you then.
D
Some god-awful country band blared over the speakers at the Welcome Mat. It wasn’t the usual sound for this place, just whatever CD someone had put in while we prepped the bar, cleaned the tables, and got the club ready to open.
The music annoyed me, but at this point, my favorite album by my favorite band would have annoyed me. Everyone and everything was on my last nerve today. It was a Saturday, so at least I hadn’t had to go to my day job. I probably would have strangled someone. How I was going to get through a busy night dealing with people in various states of inebriation, I had no idea. One hour at a time, I supposed.
For now, things were quiet aside from the shitty music. Colin and Dale shot the breeze while they checked the bottles in the wells, filled ice bins, and cleaned soda dispensers. Tabby was in the back doing paperwork. Sadie and Haley, two of the cocktail waitresses, chatted as they pulled down chairs and arranged tables in the lounge.
I busied myself with anything that kept me as far from everyone else as possible.
Everything was . . . off. I hadn’t felt like eating. I’d managed half a cup of coffee in the time it usually took me to down three.
Maybe coffee isn’t what I need to be drinking right now.
I pushed that thought away. No drinking on the job. That was nonnegotiable when working for Tabby. State law or not, she’d have had my head on a pike if I ever clocked in with booze on my breath.
It sure was tempting, though. Even being here at the Mat, in my sanctuary from a judgmental world, I couldn’t relax. I couldn’t take a step without feeling like my feet were encased in cement.
Damn it, what the fuck is wrong with me?
Maybe it was just nerves. My parents’ trial was due to start on Monday.
This was something else, though. Something all too familiar.
The explanation for my mood was in the back of my mind, just beyond my awareness, like a person standing around a corner. I knew exactly who and where they were, but as long as I didn’t acknowledge them, they didn’t exist. The song on the CD player ended, and another began. It had just enough steel guitar to grate on my nerves, so I decided I’d make myself useful in the back room instead of up here. We needed a few more containers of margarita salt anyway. Right. That was it.
I went into the storeroom and found the box with margarita salt in it. After I’d pulled out a couple of containers, I paused to do a quick mental inventory and figure out if we needed anything else up front. Toothpicks? Napkins? Bitters? No, pretty sure we were well stocked.
I scanned the stacks of various supplies in case anything jogged my memory. As I did, my gaze drifted across the one window in the room, and when I caught a glimpse of myself in the glass, I almost dropped the margarita salt. I froze, staring at my own transparent, barely visible reflection.
Of course it shouldn’t have surprised me, seeing my male face looking back at me. I supposed it wasn’t a surprise as much as it was a cold slap of reality. I knew I was male right now, but seeing meant believing.
I forced myself to turn away from my reflection. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. Get it together. I could get through this. I had to. I was stuck as a male. No matter how badly I needed to be in a female body right now, it wasn’t going to happen. Obsessing over it and wishing it weren’t so wasn’t going to help matters.
But knowing that didn’t stop me from doing so. I set the margarita salt on a shelf and rubbed my temples. This whole situation was going to drive me insane. No two ways about it.
Usually, if I was truly desperate to shift, such as while I was with my family or at my day job, I could hold out until I got home. Once I was alone behind locked doors, I could shift. If I was staying with Damon, I could grab a shower and, for a few minutes, be what I needed to be.
For now and the foreseeable future, there was no “when I get home tonight.” No sneaking off to the shower, no spending a few minutes alone in the restroom at my day job. There was no getting away from myself. From the need to be something I couldn’t be. None. For the first time, in this place where I’d always been safe and okay, I wasn’t.
Cold sweat beaded on the back of my neck and electric panic snaked up the length of my spine. It was like having a terrible itch, but being unable to scratch it. Ever.
I shuddered. Don’t think like that. This is not permanent.
“Tabby, are we out of Grand Marnier?” James called down the hall.
“There’s an unopened case in the back,” she replied. “I’ll order another, but there should be plenty in there for tonight.”
I sighed and rubbed my eyes, the sound of Tabby’s voice tossing guilt into the mix of emotions. She’d have sold her soul for the ability to shift once. I could only imagine what it was like to be permanently trapped in the wrong body from day one. Even if I remained static, my body would sometimes match my mind. Tabith
a would always be a woman trying to make do with whatever modifications she could manage on a biologically male body.
I took another deep breath, promised I’d quit feeling sorry for myself and get through the night, and went back to figuring out if there was anything else we needed for this evening.
I carefully avoided the window and its damning reflection, but hell if I could forget seeing my own male face in it.
Fuck it. If we needed anything else, one of the other bartenders could come back and find it. I needed to get out of this room and away from its window before I lost my mind.
I grabbed the margarita salt and went back up front.
Tabby was behind the bar when I stepped out, and she looked up as I set the salt beside the well.
“You get lost back here?” she asked with a grin.
I gave a quiet laugh that was as forced as it sounded. “Something like that.”
Her forehead creased with concern. “You okay, hon?”
“I’m fine.”
Her eyes said “I don’t believe you,” but she didn’t argue.
While I continued stocking the well and cleaning the bar, I glanced at my watch. Four fifteen. Forty-five minutes until we opened. Probably two or three hours before the rush started, and almost eight before I could clock off, go home, and have a few drinks myself.
I rolled my shoulders to get rid of the tension. It was absolutely alien to be this wound up here at the Mat.
Deal with it, Alex. Just deal with it.
Forty-five minutes later, the neon sign lit up, the door was unlocked, and the first customers strolled in.
Here we go. A few hours. I can get through it.
Oh, but there was one thing about this job I’d conveniently forgotten. I’d kept it tucked away in the back of my mind along with all the other unpleasantness I hadn’t wanted to deal with, but it shoved its way to the front right about the time one of the regulars took a seat at the bar.